Dark Destiny (25 page)

She shook her head. “No. I have
no
idea what you’re saying.”

He gazed deep into her eyes. “In this world, I can see everywhere. I can’t explain it. Behind this door is the sweetest lady in the world. She needs you. Help her. If you can help her into the Light, that will give my power a recharge. Then, maybe, I’ll be strong enough to finally be able get us out of this mess. Please, trust me.”

Sara took a second, examining his face. Finally, she exhaled a deep sigh, wrapping her arms around him. “I do trust you. I’m confused. But I do trust you.”

“Thank you.”

Hurry, Reaper. Incoming.

The air crackled in two locations.

Right beside them.

I cannot hold them much longer.
The Elder’s voice was strained.

“Come on.” He opened the door marked
612
and glanced over his shoulder to see Sara’s wary, almost sad, expression. “It’ll be okay.”

She took a deep breath, then stepped inside the room. He closed the door behind her. The feeling of dread crept through him that he may never see her again. Behind him, Raphael and Gabriel came out of their
blinks
.

Sebastian brought his hands up into striking position, his scythe materializing in his hands. He slashed forward. The blade didn’t destroy the door, but went straight
through
. The door hummed then glowed for a second before becoming normal and dull once again.

Something pulled hard on his cloak, yanking him back in an arc. He slammed face first into the ceiling, leaving a half body imprint. Another tug on his cloak sent him crashing into a wall, shattering bricks and sending mortar tumbling through the air. A final jerk slammed him into the tiled floor. Ceramic dust floated through the air as he lay there stunned.

Sebastian coughed through the dusty haze as Gabriel stepped into view. The Reaper stiffened as Raphael approached the door to Room 612. With one touch the door exploded into a mass of shards and sawdust.

Sebastian’s heart pounded in his ears, his breath froze in his chest. “Hope this works,” he whispered.

Raphael’s sharp footsteps rang off the ruined concrete floor as he stepped into the condo. When the Reaper tried to sit up, Gabriel pressed his thick black boot to his chest.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Raphael said from inside the room.

The Reaper blew out a breath of relief.

Well played
, complimented the Elder.

Raphael walked out of the condo with a wry smile. “He put her in a haunt.”

Gabriel stared down at the Reaper and grunted in disgust.

Sebastian snorted. “Try getting her now.”

Wednesday, 1:01 am

Moonlight shone down on what seemed like an endless field of white.  The rays bled through the tree limbs casting eerie shadows on the ground. Great drifts of snow buried the tombstones, as though someone had come along and draped white sheets over them. Though the blizzard had passed, high winds gusted through the cemetery, hardening the snow and forming a crust on top. An owl hooted in the distance. The only other sound was the squeaking of the Gothic gate’s rusty hinges swaying open and closed.

Next to one of the buried tombstones, a section of snow stirred. Then, Mr. Thompson’s hand punched through. Fumbling through the coldness, he gripped the top of the tombstone. A gasp for air followed. He used the stone marker as leverage to haul himself into a sitting position. Though he didn’t wear a coat, the cold didn’t seem to faze him.

He rubbed his face.
How long have I been out?
With the amount of snow, he knew it had to have been hours. He must have passed out from the pain of Cleo’s
gift
.

Gradually, with many painful grunts, he managed to climb to his feet. Though his legs wobbled beneath him, they supported his weight. He took in deep gulps of air for a few moments before pushing himself from the tombstone and taking a tentative step.

It took all of his might to take a simple step. He stumbled forward, moving with caution. The snow hindered his progress as he shuffled along, reaching for the next tombstone as he moved.

“Slow and steady,” he muttered to himself.

After a few minutes of hobbling along, sensation started to return to his legs.

Control. They were obeying him as they should.

Once his legs realized he was back in charge, they began to listen to his commands. That’s when he gained momentum and ran.

As he raced forward, thoughts flooded his mind. Cleo had actually hurt him. Him! And not just hurt. No, she had destroyed him with pain to the point that it felt as though his bones had shattered into a million pieces within his legs. He hadn’t realized she had that kind of power.

And she had done it all without maintaining eye contact. That was what bothered him the most. From all of the research he had done on the subject, it was impossible. Eye contact was a must.

On top of that, he heard Cleo wasn’t even the strongest Seal. She wasn’t the leader. Fear slithered throughout his body. If one of them was that strong on her own, imagine how powerful they would all be together. It would be a nightmare.

Sebastian must be warned!

Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he flew through the creaky iron gate and rounded the corner to his parked car. When he saw that his car was buried in a snowdrift, his shoulders slumped and his jaw dropped. It would definitely take time to get it out, something he did not have. Still, he needed to get inside the vehicle. He pushed and kicked the snow away from the driver’s side door. His hands shook. Not from the cold, but from the shock of what she’d done to him.

He fumbled with the door for a minute as his fingers refused to obey his wishes, fighting off the urge to rip the bloody door off its hinges. He wouldn’t do that. It was too pretty, and he loved his car. Twenty-first century technology was one of his joys in life.

Finally, he got the door open enough so he could slide in. He reached for his messenger bag sitting on the passenger seat. It was radiating with a reddish glow.

“Oh, no,” he whispered.

Opening the bag, he took out the bell whose symbols burned brightly, a clear warning something was happening.

He picked up the bell and
blinked
home.

Wednesday, 1:32 am

Imogen Thompson sat primly but relaxed on her couch. The only source of light was the bright glare from the 84-inch, 8K resolution television. Part of her knew it was over-the-top, but she loved it. An old rerun of Doctor Who was on. This series was the one thing she looked forward to every week. Rerun or new episode, it didn’t matter to her. She’d watch it faithfully with a large, five gallon tub of popcorn filled to the top. She would eat every kernel with her eyes glued to the show. “Thank God for British television,” she always said.

She scooped popcorn into her hand and shoveled it into her mouth. Bits of popcorn fell back into the tub as she crunched open mouthed.

There was a buzz in the air, and it cracked a second later.

The clattering of a cup bouncing slightly on the table mingled with the sound of whistling wind and the faint whispers of rushing water somewhere close by. A mist of golden particles shimmered brilliantly as Mr. Thompson
blinked
into the room.

“Something wrong with the car, dear?” she asked with a popcorn-filled smile.

He gave her a grim look.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Get dressed, my peach,” he told her as he went to the light switch. Light flooded the room.

“We’re leaving.”

Her tone changed, more serious and insistent. “What’s wrong?”

His expression told her all she needed to know.

Wednesday, 2:08 am

The Thompsons were on edge, their living room lay in a mess. Piles of their clothes were neatly folded and stacked on the couch. A hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in cash lay in neatly stacked piles on the heavy, wooden kitchen table next to the large bowl of half-eaten popcorn. A variety of powders, herbs, oils, candles, and empty vials filled with multicolored liquids were scattered throughout the room.

These mystical provisions had been used to block spiritual tracking in the past, but they weren’t sure if the Seals could track credit cards, ATM withdrawals or other forms of electronic spending. For now, they would stay off the grid, use physical money only, and lay as low as possible.

Mr. Thompson gripped the edge of the table and let his head fall forward. “I’m a coward.”

His knuckles went white as his fingers dug deeply into the solid wood table, cracking the polished wood with his grip.

Imogen had busied herself with packing some of their essentials, such as toothbrushes, toothpaste, and face wash, into a large suitcase, but she stopped.

She lifted her eyes to his. “You’re protecting your family.” Her tone was sweet, filled with sorrow and compassion.

He didn’t reply. She was right of course, but he couldn’t shake this feeling of cowardice. He had failed on every level.

“I promised,” he whispered.

At that second, they both heard it.

“Mommy?” said a sleepy voice.

Paige had left her bed and made her way into the living room. Her fine blonde hair was tousled, and her Doctor Who pajamas were wrinkled and sleep-worn.

Imogen went to her daughter. “It’s okay sweetie. I’m sorry the noise woke you.”

Paige rubbed one of her eyes and gazed around the room. “Are we going somewhere?”

Kneeling on one knee, Imogen put her fingers on Paige’s chin and spoke softly, “Australia. Remember when I showed you the pictures of the Opera house?”

Paige nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Well, now I want to take you to see it. And the Sydney Harbour Bridge is so beautiful sweetie, you’ll love it.”

Paige beamed, instantly awake. “Really? We’re going to Sydney!”

Mrs. Thompson kissed her cheek. “And anywhere else you want to go.”

“Okay!” Paige said as she leapt into her mom’s arms and squeezed her into a tight embrace.

Mrs. Thompson pulled back and said, “You go get dressed and start packing, okay?”

“Yes, Mommy!” Paige said before trotting off to her room.

Neither Imogen nor Mr. Thompson moved. They stood staring at the hallway toward Paige’s room.

“The Seals can’t find her,” Imogen said.

“I know.”

“If they do, they will
—
”

“They won’t.”

“What about the Angels?” she pleaded. “Can they help?”

“No! If they find out what she can do, they will take her as well.”

Imogen ran her hands down her face. “What are we supposed to do? Just run for the rest of our lives?”

“I—I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

Wednesday, 2:45 am

The convertible had been abandoned at the cemetery, and most likely the SUV would be left at the airport. Mr. Thompson loved his cars, but what could he do? In the backseat, next to Paige’s pink car seat, sat the duffel bag filled with cash.

Mr. Thompson closed the back hatch of the SUV and stood at the edge of the bumper, thinking about how he was going to tell Imogen he wasn’t going with them. He had made his decision the instant he saw his daughter, and he’d been dreading the moment when he would have to tell Imogen.

All of the lights in the house were off. It seemed exactly like the day they’d bought it, dark and empty. Imogen stepped outside, her thick auburn hair pulled into a ponytail, the way she’d worn it when they first met. Mr. Thompson admired her figure, the way her tight blue jeans followed the contours of her hips. He felt as though his heart was breaking.

Imogen locked the front door of the house and went to the passenger side door.

“Ready?” she asked.

“We need to talk,” he told her, his voice breaking. He stepped towards her.

She paused, took in a deep breath and stared at him without saying a word. Her expression told him she already knew what he was going to say. Still, he had to say the words.

“I’m not going,” he said softly. He gazed with longing at her face as she glared at him. “I know you’re mad. I know. But I have to tell him. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. I owe it to him. For God’s sake he saved your life!”

She exhaled, recalling that day so long ago. She swallowed hard and stepped toward him. She leaned in and kissed him on the lips. With her eyes closed, she held his face in both hands and their foreheads pressed together.

“We’ll wait for you in Sydney,” she whispered. “I love you.”

He wrapped his arms around her and his words came out shaky. “I love you too.”

He wiped away a tear and walked around to the backseat. He leaned in and gave his daughter the biggest kiss he could. Paige complained about it, but he knew she loved it and wanted more. He did it again to make sure she got the point.

No more words. What else was there to say?

Imogen climbed into the driver’s seat.

Eyes solid on each other.